


The Name of the Rose

by Solitary_Shadow



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Blasphemy, Dialogue Heavy, M/M, Religious Themes, Requiem Mass, Rosenrot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitary_Shadow/pseuds/Solitary_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our Father in Heaven loves us all. But love is a wild beast and our God is a vengeful God. [Rosenrotverse, Till/Flake. Warnings inside.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Name of the Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Spoilers for Rosenrot, violence, Till/Flake, likely inaccurate depictions of Christian liturgy, religious themes, blasphemy, major character death (alluded), literary references, Latin in context of Catholic prayers and Requiem Mass, and over-abundance of dialogue. This being a Rosenrot fic, I completely recommend listening to Bestrafe Mich. Really. If you're familiar with Requiem Masses, I might also recommend listening to one.

**The Name of the Rose - A Rammstein Fanfiction**  
  
 ****  
\--------------------------------------------------  
  
 _Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis._  
  
\-----  
  
 **Kyrie Eleison**  
  
 _'Kyrie eleison... Christe eleison... Kyrie eleison...'  
('Lord have mercy... Christ have mercy... Lord have mercy...')_  
  
Please, God, get me out of this.  
  
For a full day I've lain here in this outdoor cell, nothing but dirt and my torment for company. It's dark now; raising my head from my crouched position against the wall, I look up tiredly and into the rapidly darkening sky. It'll be a full Moon tonight.   
  
It'll be the last time I'll ever see it. It'll be the last time I'll ever see the stars.  
Tonight is my last night on earth.  
  
"Father," I murmur weakly through chapped lips. I haven't had a drink for hours. I haven't eaten anything for a full day, but that matters less; all I want right now is a drop of water. "Father. I have sinned."  
  
No acknowledgement comes from the heavens. I laugh and fall back against the wall. So much for our Father in heaven; for all I know, he doesn't exist.   
  
I've already sinned. I have the blood of a man and woman on my hands, figuratively and literally. Denying God will only solidify my position. I see the site of the bonfire where I'm set to be executed when the sun rises again - a large stake fixed to the ground, piles of brushwood and hay next to a wooden platform. The platform was nailed down during the day, but the stake was always there from the start, stained an ominous ashy grey and completely non-indicative of its purpose. Well, I know now.  
  
I must admit.  
I didn't foresee my life ending like this. It was only ten weeks ago that we six priests were sent to this village to spread the word of God - as missionaries, and to lend some help around the place as well. The village was only small, living off farming and harvesting flowers to sell to nearby towns - this region is famous for perfumers - and was in severe need of extra help, no matter how few. I've been on countless missions like this in my time. I had no reason to think this one would be any different. Looking out at the woods behind the bonfire, I hear a still-awake mourning dove coo its night song; its voice reminds me of Roza, the beautiful maiden who has made me fall.  
  
Fourteen years old, dark eyes, possessing a rare smile that only came out around my presence. She was particularly beautiful whenever she slept, her pink lips parted lightly in slumber, the sweet sound of her breathing quiet like the rustling of wind in the trees. The woods rustle in such a manner and I think of her moments. Moments of purity. Moments of innocence. Specific instances, more and more frequent over the weeks, where she caught my eye by simply being there. Inspired me with her beauty.  
  
She made the first move. One night, after flagellations, I was asleep in my hut when I heard footsteps by me; I'd have ignored it if not for the sensation of something velvet-soft tickling my cheek along with the warmth and sudden pressure of a body pressing close against mine. Startled, I looked to see her clinging to me and staring into my eyes.  
  
"What are you doing here, my child?"  
  
"I can't sleep, Father," she'd whispered. Handed me a thornless rose as a gift. "please let me stay with you."  
  
That was the start. She began coming in more and more often, and when I locked the door in an attempt to stop her she would simply stand outside the window and stare. I grew to know her eventually, as unnerving as I found all this in the beginning. She was young and curious of the outer world, but mostly she spent her time locked in with her apathetic and mostly-indifferent parents - they'd greet me politely, and worked hard, but from what I was told they were not the kindest folk imaginable. Roza only saw me during the day and even then, only in short, silent walks. No, our time together consisted of many nights of secretive whispers - 'Dearest Father, please hold me!' - and her enigmatic gifts of roses, with her no longer being by my side when dawn came.   
  
One night she asked me to sleep with her.   
She said that she would want to give up her maidenhood for me. Said she loved me.  
I said no. She was much too young; I thought my love for her much purer than that, a desire to protect and envelop in my arms.   
  
That's how things stayed. Roza persisted, touching me often, and it was hard - controlling my desires - but I did not give in.   
Love strengthens under pressure, and the longer you resist temptation the stronger the fire burns.  
  
So when she told me about her abusive parents, the only barrier to our relationship as far as she could see, I held up the knife with a sense of justice and adoration in my heart. Blood staining my robes and my hands I walked out, collapsing onto the dewy grass; there I lay until dawn, then I saw my rose for the first time ever by early sunlight.  
  
But alas, she didn't love me in the morning.   
  
All my love for her has been spent in vain and I feel nothing but loathing for the girl. It's hard not to blame her for everything that's happened. It's hard not to loathe her. Her beauty, her voice, her enchanting form - Roza was a siren all along, seemingly plaintive and innocent and alone in the world. Called me in with her gorgeous voice. Enticed me, pulled me close with her beauty.   
  
Then she stuck the knife in. Trapped me in this ocean of madness, helplessly watching as my ship sinks, only able to reach out to her and her cruel heart.  
  
"God, send me a sign," I call out, coughing from the effort. "send me a sign, if I can yet be saved from the clutch of the devil! If I am loved, if I am still your servant, save me from damnation!"  
  
Ah, but who am I fooling? No one. Not even myself. I no longer even have my rosary with me to hang onto.   
  
So much for love.  
My God is dead. And in the morning...   
  
... I will be.  
  
\-----  
  
 **Dies Irae**  
  
 _'Dies irae, dies illa; dolvet saeclum in favilla...'  
('Day of wrath, that very day the world will dissolve in ashes...')_  
  
"Father Lindemann, I hope you understand what you have done."  
  
I do. I do understand. Far too clearly for comfort, and certainly far too clearly for me to be able to endure hours of admonishing from my fellow priests. So I just close my eyes and pretend not to hear anything.  
  
"Father Lindemann, do you hear us?"  
  
The door of the cell clinks open. I turn my head towards the sound without opening my eyes, acknowledging only the fact that the door to my cell is open and nothing else. "Give him a drink, perhaps he can't reply," a voice says - I think it's Father Schneider's voice - and then there is a bowl pressed to my lips, someone trying to get me to drink a few sips.  
  
I contemplate refusing, but then remember that I am indeed very thirsty, and drink. Soon I've drunk the entire bowl of water, and when it's taken away I end up panting heavily for more; although I don't expect to receive more, soon I feel a hand brushing back my hair and the bowl being placed to my lips again.  
  
Open my eyes.  
It's Father Lorenz. I can't figure out what kind of expression it is that he's wearing, but it's not one of fury. I can't say the same for Father Landers and Father Kruspe, though.  
  
"That's quite enough," Father Kruspe says, glaring at me as he gently - but firmly - pulls Father Lorenz to his feet. "there is no use in helping this sinner more than necessary."  
  
"There is such a thing as mercy."  
  
But without any other comment, he leaves the cell, quietly standing outside with his head bowed. Father Kruspe looks down at me, his features hard-set in disgust and loathing; this is the same man who laughed and studied with me merely two days ago. A fair-weathered friend, both he and I.  
  
"Can you speak?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
My voice is clearer this time. At least there's that.  
  
"Your execution is set for sunrise."  
  
"I know that."  
  
He raises his eyebrow under the hat he's wearing; then he produces a Bible from the depths of his robes. "Father Lindemann," he says, his blue eyes softening for just a moment. "there is nothing we can do to save you from the stake, but you need not be damned to hell. Do you fully accept your guilt and repent your sins?"  
  
"No."  
  
For a moment we just look at each other. He's looking at me as if he thought my comment was in jest, but when I say nothing more his gaze hardens again. "I do acknowledge that I am a murderer," I tell him as I rise to my feet calmly, clarifying what I mean. "there is no point in me denying that."  
  
"Then what exactly do you mean by 'no'?" Father Riedel asks from outside, his voice soft and plaintive - he is the youngest out of all of us, it's not at all surprising. I turn to look at him and he flinches. And this shouldn't bother me, but it does.  
  
"By 'no', I mean that I did not do it for the sake of murdering them. By 'no', I mean that there is another culprit that you ought to capture and judge and never will. The one I loved."  
  
"Surely you don't mean the-"  
  
Father Kruspe dismisses Father Schneider's speech with a wave of his hand. "Evil speaks in him," he says sternly. "he knows not what he's saying. Forget the girl, Father Lindemann, your so-called love for her is _unnatural_. I shall read you the words of Saint Paul. Hopefully you will regain your senses long enough to recognize the words of God."  
  
"Save your words. I no longer believe in them."  
  
"You don't mean that," he flips the pages of the Bible. By this point I am so fed up that I simply stalk right up to him while he's distracted. " _Titus, one fifteen... to the pure all things are pure, but to those-_ "  
  
He never gets to finish, because I simply spin around to push him to the ground. He falls with a harsh cry, his hat knocked to the ground and revealing dark, smooth hair; the other priests gasp out loud as I stand over him, panting hard. " _I mean it, Father,_ " I hiss. "I meant it all too well. You noticed her too, long ago, didn't you? Not so unnatural now, is it?"  
  
Father Kruspe is scrambling to his feet, his robes stained with mud and face crimson with both fury and humiliation. Something tells me that I ought to have held back, but I'm beyond caring. "How dare you!" he shouts, and before any of us can stop him or say anything he hurls himself forward and slaps me right around the face, the sound ringing as clearly as anything through the air.  
  
It hurts. Quite a lot. If he'd hit any harder, I'd be bleeding for sure. I recall that he once used to wrestle. But I'm actually ecstatic that he's lost control.  
  
"See," I manage to laugh, triumphant at seeing his and the others' horrified expression. "to the pure, all things are pure; but none of us are, Father. You and I are not so different."  
  
Father Kruspe throws me a terrified glance. His lips tremble for a moment before he suddenly turns and runs out of my cell, grasping at his robes to help him run faster. Before long he's out of sight, fleeing from me and his own humanity, towards the hill where we performed our flagellations and cleansed our bodies every night. It's a shame that our friendship has to end this way, but I've given him a gift that he won't be forgetting any time soon, and the thought makes me laugh even harder. Father Landers points a shaking finger at me, his eyes wide with terror. "He's been possessed by the devil," he shouts. "we can do no more for him - let us leave!"  
  
"Why?" I shout back. There is no redemption for me now, but I have the upper hand for this one moment, and I fully intend to enjoy it. "are you frightened that I'll corrupt you? That I'll kill you all?" Drawing myself up to my full height I stalk up to the bars, making the priests gasp and flinch back; Father Landers hurriedly fumbles in his pockets for the key, intending to lock me in again.  
  
I've had enough of this farce. It's now or never. Reaching out as the door beings to swing shut, I grab the first person I can and tug him firmly inside, crushing his body tight against mine. I don't even look to see who it is - he's a hostage, and that's all that matters as I place one hand around his throat and threaten to squeeze tight.  
  
"Father Lorenz, no!"  
  
The only thing Father Lorenz, now in my grasp, says to all of this is a small 'oh'. Even this is too much for me, so I press hard at his neck and grip his arm behind his back. "If I'm possessed, so be it," I snarl. "let me out of here or I will kill this man. I have nothing to lose. My fate is already sealed. Do you think I'm afraid of the consequences?"  
  
"You - you _monster,_ " Father Riedel shouts, close to tears as he helplessly reaches through the bars. "I prayed for you - he helped you, fed you water - and this is how-"  
  
"Let it be, Father Riedel," he says, stopping all - including me - in their tracks. "let it be."  
  
"But...!"  
  
"You're in a cell with a _murderer,_ " Father Landers says, not meeting my eyes. And why would he? He was the first one to notice and be disgusted with me and her liaison. "it's not something that we can just watch and let be - we'll get the villagers!"  
  
"No."  
  
He is calm. Far, far too calm for my liking. But I keep a firm grasp on his arm, though I don't look at him, and carry on staring resolutely into the faces of my once-peers.  
  
"But... why?"   
  
"The villagers are in mourning," Father Lorenz says quietly. "and this is not a matter that would justify us interrupting them. Let them mourn those were were with them only a day ago. I will be all right. Please go and join them; your presence is more required there than here."  
  
They say nothing, but his words have struck home for all of them. If I weren't in this cell - if I hadn't been the murderer, had been one of the innocent priests - I'd have agreed fullheartedly, too. And yet they hesitate, reluctant to ask him the question weighing heavily in all of their minds: what if he ends up joining the dead because of me? Father Lorenz merely nods solemnly in understanding through the silence.  
  
"Whatever happens to me, it is God's will. Please go and see to them. God bless you all, my brothers. Amen."   
  
With that he withdraws and stands next to me, not resisting, his eyes closed. For the better or for worse, Father Lorenz has said all he wanted to say, and there's nothing any of us can do about it. With reluctance and regret, Father Landers steps out - hesitates - and holds up the heavy key. It turns with a slight screech in the rusted lock.  
  
"If-" he spits in my direction, gazing at me with mingled fear and hatred. "if - you dare to harm even one hair on his head-"  
  
I don't bother replying, instead fixing his stare with a steely gaze of my own until he turns back and beckons to the others to follow. They are then gone, throwing uneasy glances behind their backs, ready to join Father Kruspe and check on the villagers, leaving me and Father Lorenz alone in the cell. I realize that I'm still holding onto his arm only then, and gripping onto it hard enough to leave marks; he's said nothing, I simply didn't notice. I move away from him with a shudder and glare outside once more.  
  
What do I do with him now?  
  
Do I kill him? I have nothing to lose anymore. I am a condemned man, if I take one more life it will not make any difference to my fate. It might speed my execution up even more, which is increasingly looking like a viable possibility. But I have no other reason to kill him - I have always been on cordial terms with Father Lorenz. Why would I need to kill him, are not two pointless deaths enough in a day?   
  
But do I just _sit_ with him in awkward silence until daylight?  
  
As I contemplate this, he adjusts his shawl and clears his throat. "Around half ten or so," Father Lorenz says, glancing at the moon - and much to my chagrin, simply sits down on the floor of my cell and makes himself comfortable. It's almost as if he doesn't care that he's locked in with a murderer; even the 'almost' would be inaccurate, he looks too peaceful, too indifferent for my comfort. Rustling in his pockets, he takes out a long rosary and drapes the beads around his hands before looking up at me. "it's time for our nightly rosary prayers, Father Lindemann. Would you like to join me?"  
  
I have a feeling that out of five I could have chosen from, I chose the single wrong priest to spend my last night on earth with.  
  
God has a vile sense of humor. But then, I have been shown that as clearly as anything in the past twenty-four hours.  
  
\-----  
  
 **Offertory**  
  
 _'Domine Iesu Christe, Rex gloriae, libera animas omnium fidelium defunctorum...'  
('Lord Jesus Christ, King of Glory, free the souls of all faithful departed...')_  
  
"... from Infernal punishment and the deep pit..."  
  
He's still praying fervently. I watch him, feeling detached. I can recite the prayers along with him, I know it all by heart, but I no longer see the point in it. His fingers rub the beads gently as he murmurs the words - I don't like it very much, the thought that he pities me and is perhaps praying endlessly for my soul is not a comfortable one.  
  
" _Ave Maria, gratia plena,_ " he murmurs, moving onto the Hail Mary's. " _Dominus tecum, Virgo serena._ "  
  
Father Lorenz was always a strange one. I knew him even before we went on this mission - we nodded to each other as we passed each other in hallways and sometimes prayed together, but it has only been ten weeks since we began to converse. Admittedly, me and him have talked a lot in the past few weeks. None of the priests, me included, know much about him despite this. I know that he is three years younger than me although one would at first glance think that he has seen and lived through all of human sorrow - his face is tired, pale and drawn, making him appear much older than he actually is. Ever since he was a young man, he has wandered the land in search for a purpose, going on various missions in his search for God and his own self. We became very close - he's asked me repeatedly to call me by his first name, 'Christian', always laughing and dismissing the title of 'Father'. Said that he didn't quite feel worthy of a title like that when he did not know himself. He told me that he found me interesting, that he thought me particularly holy and had high hopes for me. That I might make something out of myself one day even if he couldn't.  
  
What became of that thought now that this has happened, I don't know.  
I'm not sure if I want to know.  
  
I walk closely towards him, silent and observing. He doesn't look up nor pause his prayer, but I see his back tensing and realize that he is nervous about my presence. This knowledge doesn't comfort nor fill me with triumph. Rather, I actually feel somewhat upset about it. Letting out a small sound of disdain, I turn towards the bars and at the hill where we flagellated ourselves. There _is_ someone there, just the one, frantically whipping himself with the knotted rope and crying out in mixed pain and pleasure.  
  
"Forgive me, Father," he's shouting. It must be Father Landers. "forgive me."  
  
No doubt he's thinking of Father Lorenz, locked up in the cell, and perhaps again of Roza. This thought is interrupted when the murmur of prayer stops behind me and the man himself stands up to join me in watching Father Landers.  
  
"It's not too late to repent now, you know," he says, looking at me as he carefully puts away his rosary beads in his pocket once more. "renounce the devil, Father. Believe in God."  
  
Smirk. There is nothing to do now but laugh. "Now, now, Father Lorenz, this is no time for me to make more enemies."  
  
"I have asked you before. Please call me Christian. It is my name," he stands up and actually dares to smile at me. "and in return, I will refer to you as Dietrich, for that is _your_ name."  
  
Frown. He's right, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't use that name because I have never liked it. He knows this; the hatred within my heart is telling me that he's doing this on purpose to provoke me, and I hold onto the thought. Anything to keep me occupied.  
  
"You are not an evil man at heart, Dietrich. Your belief will save you."  
  
"My belief did nothing for me when I met the devil, and when she won me over!"  
  
"'She'? Surely you don't mean the girl?"  
  
"Roza," the name is bitter to the taste. "she... she has led me to temptation. That wench, that evil..."  
  
He stares intensely at me, glasses gleaming in the moonlight. " _Dietrich._ Do not say such a thing."  
  
"She seduced me!"  
  
"Did you sleep with her?"  
  
"No. I resisted for her sake - everything I did, I did for Roza and her alone."  
  
"So you killed her parents?"  
  
I slam my fist against the wall. " _She wanted me to, Christian!_ I knew no one would believe me. Her parents beat her, she was always bruised, she wanted escape! I did it out of love; do not condemn me for wanting to protect a girl who I thought was pure! When I left the hut with the knife in hand I saw her, she smiled, actually _smiled_ like the devil she is at what I'd done! And then - and then she called out - the villagers were upon me with her cry-"  
  
"And it didn't occur to you that in her immaturity, she might have only asked you such a thing in jest?"  
  
I have nothing to say to that.   
  
"It was wrong of her. Yes. But actions speak louder than words, Dietrich. She merely stated it. You actually put it to action and deprived a young girl of both her parents, and a suffering village of two vital workers for the harvest. That is your sin, first and foremost. Love is not something to be condemned, but you have murdered two people in its name, and that is what you will be punished for."  
  
I don't want to listen to him.  
His lack of fear angers and fascinates me.  
  
"Did you think you would not be faced with the truth if you threatened to kill me, Dietich? Am I weak and helpless in your eyes?"  
  
"... I see that I was wrong."  
  
"Love is noble," Christian's gaze is stern and inescapable. "but in the name of love does not justify everything."  
  
\-----  
  
 **Sanctus**  
  
 _'... Hosanna in excelsis! Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini!'  
('... Hosanna in the greatest! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!')_  
  
Then through the trees, I see her. Roza, the young siren who has led me here; it is her, most definitely her in her beautiful, heartless glory. Her long, braided dark hair glistening in the moonlight, her large dark eyes that sing out - ' _love me!_ ' - even her figure-hugging dress and coat. She's approaching Father Landers and as I watch in shock, she runs forwards, burying her head within his chest and looking as if she's weeping.   
  
"Is... is that...?"  
  
Christian is staring at her as well in disbelief. Father Landers is awkwardly patting her on the shoulder, but as he's shirtless and covered with cuts from his flagellation, he's desperately trying to get away from her. She clings to him with far too much strength and will for a girl who ought to be mourning her parents, but he eventually breaks free and disappears into the hut just beneath the hill. Roza stares after him, and then slowly makes her way down the hill and towards the direction of the bonfire.  
  
"Roza," I whisper. It is fortunate that Father Landers will depart tomorrow after my execution; he won't have time to fall under her charm like I did. "Roza..."  
  
Christian spins around to face me. "Is that what you mean, Dietrich?" he asks me frantically, his face paler than ever. "that is - that's not the behavior of a newly orphaned girl-"  
  
"Now you believe me," I say bitterly, and purposefully look away. Roza is now sitting by the bonfire, staring in the direction of my cell - sooner or later she'll come to gloat over me, I can just imagine it. She plucks a rose and inhales its scent before letting out a little laugh - only a little one, but nevertheless it makes Christian flinch with its harshness. "she used to gift me roses. I see now where she got them from. How ironic they came from the spot where I am to be killed."  
  
He looks at me, and moves to peer out of the bars, his breath misting lightly in mid-air. "Look at the stake," he murmurs, more to himself than to me - but I nevertheless listen. "stained with ashes... too recent... roses planted near it... it can't be right. This is only a small village. We were sent so that we could lend a hand with their work. It surely can't afford to execute anyone at a regular basis... unless..."  
  
A mutual realization dawns on both of us. Our gazes meet and we stare at each other for a long while, the horror of it settling in.  
I am not the first to die. I am probably not the last.  
  
And if what we think is right... I am also not the first to die for this particular sin.  
  
"Oh, God help us all," Christian says faintly as he falls to his knees; he closes his eyes and desperately bows his head again in prayer, but this time it only lasts a few seconds as the words die on his lips. I myself can do nothing but look straight ahead, past the stake and the dark woods behind it, knowing that there is no escape.  
  
Roza makes her way down towards my cell, smiling carelessly in that way of hers. But then she sees Christian - stops in confusion - and then her face twists in fear before she turns away, discarding the rose as she runs and disappears out of sight.  
  
Roses. I stare at the flower, red as blood and passion, lying on the ground.  
  
Who knows how long this has been going on?  
Who knows how long it will carry on after this?  
  
From what I know, missionaries have been sent to this village, once per year, for quite some time. It's been at least a decade. Roza was only four when it started; and if sacrifices have been made from the beginning, she cannot be the only temptress in this place. That's why no one questioned her motives, that's why she was immediately believed for everything despite her affections being far more obvious - and that's why she didn't blink an eye at her parents dying.   
  
Were they her real parents? What's to say that they aren't part of the plot? Did my refusal to sleep with Roza lead her to take desperate measures? We were all due to leave by sunrise, after all.  
  
I close my eyes and slide downwards, face-down in the dirt floor of the cell. The smell of roses are overpowering even from here, and it's then I realize that during our time in this village, we had never once had a moment where the scent of roses didn't follow us everywhere. The villagers here harvest them as part of their living, the women are seen extracting their raw scent by distiling their petals over hours and days - Roza herself wore the purest perfume of rose, honey-sweet and seductive, but I always thought there was a curiously metallic tinge to it that felt strange. Looking up, I see the rose blossoms around the thorned bushes surrounding the area where I am due to be burnt at the stake, and then I understand.  
  
Red roses have various meanings. Love. Passion. Immortality. Balance.  
  
 _Sacrifice._  
  
I can only imagine the scenes, similar in tone each time, from the years in the past. Missionaries and priests coming to teach and bless the village. Each time, one being lured by a girl; the holier and purer, the better. Corrupting. Sacrificing.   
  
Roses grown where their blood and ashes fell. Absorbing the scent. Growing deeper and darker red every time, its aroma becoming more and more powerful with the love of helpless sinners, their thorns long and sharper than ever. Embodiment of their screams and pain as they burned, their immortal souls swept by the wind and carried off to the great unknown.   
  
The perfume is sweet but nothing can fully mask the scent of blood.  
  
My mouth is dry.  
For the first time in years, I feel the presence of God and the Devil, oppressive and suffocating, and I fear Him.   
  
God exists. And he is a cruel and vengeful God.  
  
I feel sick.   
I'm going to faint. All those men, all those _holy men_ fallen from grace-  
  
"She's gone. She's left us. Are you - are you all right?"  
  
And suddenly Christian is turning me to face him, both of his hands grasping at my shoulders and helping me sit up. He's not a strong man, but his grip on me is steady enough that I manage not to collapse; just as well, my legs have lost their strength. Blearily I gaze up at him, dry-swallowing and feeling horribly nauseous, feeling his hand on my cheek and his anxious gaze meeting my own.   
  
"No," I murmur to him. I'm not sure what I'm responding to - Roza having left, or feeling all right? "no... _no._ "  
  
" _Sleep,_ Dietrich. You're exhausted. Restore your spirits; I'll keep watch. She'll not torment you further."  
  
While knowing that she has been chased away is of some comfort, I don't want to sleep; I doubt I even can, with my demise looming over me. It must be past midnight now. But I don't want to disobey Christian, for whatever reason - he's been cordial enough to me so far, and besides I'd like to think about all of this in some form of solitary confinement.   
  
And right now, what I am in _isn't_ solitary confinement. I brought this on myself.   
  
"... How do I know you won't leave and abandon me to the dogs while I sleep?"  
  
It's a rhetorical question, but I'm thinking of Father Landers and the possibility that he might visit this cell. He was reluctant to lock Christian in with me, no doubt he's tossing and turning in his bed right now with the discomfort of having left him here; there's no reason why he can't sneak out in the middle of the night and free him while I'm asleep. I don't want to engage too much with Christian, but I don't want to be alone.  
  
"Because I have no desire to do such a thing," he says plainly, making me raise my head from my position from the floor. Christian... who is he? What is his purpose? I know so little about him, while having talked to him the most. He's always been polite, thoughtful, quiet... we have all respected him, but none of us have really understood him. I know that he has been wandering this land since his youth, searching for a purpose, but that contributes nothing to my understanding. We all are searching for a purpose, as human beings, after all. He's stayed with me, admonished me sharply for my sin without fear that I might do the same to him, and yet he's believed in me at the same time.   
  
What does it all mean?  
  
Why did he _choose_ to stay with me?   
  
"... Who are you?"  
  
He smiles at me ever so faintly, sweeping brown hair from his pale forehead, exhausted but firm.  
  
"I am a man of God."  
  
\-----  
  
 **Agnus Dei**  
  
 _'Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem... sempiternam...'  
('Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, grant them rest... grant them rest eternal...')_  
  
I dream for the last time in my life. It is not a pleasant dream.  
I'm on the bonfire, bound at the stake with my robes stained with the ashes of the previously executed. Dry hay and oil are poured over me, the crowd jeering and calling out for my death. Father Riedel steps forwards and pours holy water around the area of execution, murmuring a prayer that I can't hear.  
Roza is the first to throw the flame at my feet, holding onto another man for support, her beautiful face blazing in cruel joy as fire spreads over my body.   
  
That man she's holding onto is Christian. He looks at me blankly; he does not shake himself free of her grasp, but he is the only one who doesn't toss in a flame or a piece of kindling.  
"Will I dream?" I call out to him within my dream; the flames are licking at my body, I can feel it and I can smell my clothing and flesh burning away, but for some reason I can't feel the pain. "Christian, Christian, will I dream in heaven?"  
  
He just looks at me. "Of course," he finally calls back, and smiles his tranquil smile. "of course you will, Dietrich."  
  
"... That is,"  
  
"If you even _get_ into heaven in the first place."  
  
"But how do I know?" I cry, clenching my eyes shut, the wood and hay beginning to throw up sparks into my eyes. "how can I _tell?_ "  
  
"Listen _very_ closely," he shouts back. "keep your mind clear... and _open your eyes!_ "  
  
I try, but the smoke is making them water too much and I have to shut them again in pain. "I can't! It hurts!"  
  
No answer comes. Silence sets in, except for the crackling of the fire and the sound of my flesh being burnt away; Roza's high-pitched laughter and the jeers of the villagers have disappeared, too. There is only smoke and stillness. Slowly I realize that I am more afraid of this darkness behind my eyes than the sight that will greet my gaze, and force my eyes open through the hot, stinging smoke yet again to find that no one is there.   
  
No one, that is, except Christian. He takes off his robe, bare-chested in the same manner as I have seen him during our nightly flagellations, his back and slim torso criss-crossed with scars, before walking straight onto the bonfire with me. He doesn't burn or show any signs of pain, instead simply coming to stand behind me; I can't look back at him, my neck is fixed to the stake with rope. But I don't even manage to ask about this before he loosens the rope around my neck and grasps my head, gently letting me look up, right at the full moon and stars.  
  
"Can you see?"  
  
"... Yes."  
  
"Do you see heaven?"  
  
"..."  
  
Christian's hold tightens on me, and he leans over to whisper in my ear:   
  
"Now... Dietrich..."  
  
"... _Wake up._ "  
  
"-Wake up... Dietrich... _Dietrich!_ "  
  
With a start I am jolted awake, facing the stone ceiling of the cell and looking up into Christian's worried face. "You were crying out in your sleep," he tells me faintly as I stare at him. "you sounded as if you were in pain... here, your cheeks are wet, let me..."  
  
The breeze stings against my cold cheeks, and I realize that he is right, my cheeks are wet with tears and sweat. He's kneeling down by my side, two sets of rosaries draped around his arms. I must have interrupted another of his prayers, though I don't think I've ever seen him pray with two sets before. He quietly wipes my face clean with the edge of his shawl. "I had a dream..." I mumble, my voice sounding oddly distorted even to myself. "... burning... hurt... the infernal pit..."  
  
"Hush," he soothes. "hush. It was only a dream."  
  
"No, no," I can't handle this. I'm losing it. "when the morning comes, it won't be!"  
  
"Calm down."  
  
"How can you tell me to calm down? When the morning comes, I'll be dragged out and tied to the stake, Christian, and all will watch as I burn! You know what they have done to all of the missionaries who came before us! None of the priests will take my side, I will be forgotten - Roza, she'll carry on, unpunished and dragging more men to their doom, and my ashes will be swept up and I'll join the countless men who have exchanged their lives for a single moment of longing, scattered into the soil for the roses-"  
  
"No. Dietrich. _Dietrich, listen to me._ "  
  
I'm trying. I honestly am.   
But it's only sunk in now: I am going to die, and no one will remember me.   
  
"I'll have no grave," I cry, tears making their way down my cheeks again. "I am damned - forever _damned_ , Christian... when you and the others leave the village, I will be nothing but a-"  
  
" _You won't be. I will not be leaving this village. I am staying here._ "  
  
That gets my attention. I sit up straight and stare at him.  
  
"... What? What... do you mean...?  
  
Christian gestures towards the woods. "While you slept, I thought about all of this. I've made up my mind. Everything about this village is wrong - innocent men led to temptation and killed. I can't stop your execution," his voice suddenly rises to an almost shout. "no, Dietrich, it pains me to admit it, but I can't do anything about that. Two people are dead; even without the girl in question, that's enough for the villagers to warrant your execution."  
  
I don't know what to say.  
I don't understand what he means. He calms down again.  
  
"Soon you'll be tied to the bonfire and set ablaze. I'll be expected to watch as you burn, but they can't force my hand. I will send the others with the message that I've settled in this village - and you _will_ have a grave, so help me God, I'll gather up your ashes and give you a burial. There will never be roses on them. I will tend to it as long as I live."  
  
"And Roza..."  
  
"She will never touch you again. Never."  
  
"Be sure," I grab onto his shawl, my knuckles white with effort. "Christian, what you're proposing is a great sacrifice - you will be losing so much, I am only one person - is it worth giving up your future for-"  
  
He stops me on my tracks by pulling up my hands, and without another word presses a kiss on my knuckles. His lips are cool but soft against my skin.  
  
"Yes, you are only a human being. But what more do I have to lose? My pride? Wealth? Reputation? Are you not a creature of God's image on your own? Do the countless men I might be able to save not count? I can't stop your death. But I can stop this happening again to others. That alone is - _enough._ "  
  
I look at him, really look at him for the first time, and see a glimmer of sorrow mingled with fire and determination in his eyes. Just like this, he has found the purpose he has been seeking for years and never found - through my death, he will be able to save. I can see that he's made up his mind, and suddenly my knees feel weak with wonder  
  
"Oh, my friend," Christian whispers, but that's about as far as he gets before his voice chokes up. I fall to my knees; he doesn't follow suit, but his grip on my hand only tightens with emotion. "oh... oh, Dietrich... you have so far to fall."  
  
" _Must_ I fall?" I murmur.  
  
"Yes," he murmurs back to me. "yes. You must."  
  
"But you will stay?"  
  
He pulls back to meet my eyes. In the moonlight I see that his eyes are blue, as stunningly blue as the heavens and the depths of the sea, and just as irrevocably truthful as both. "I will."  
  
Christian then kneels down in front of me, taking the rosary that he's just prayed upon and placing it around my neck; it is then I realize that he has been praying for me all along. The warmth of his fingers, still embedded deep within the beads, travel through my skin - I look up at him, feeling rather startled, as he takes off his own shawl and puts it around my torso.  
  
"Are you familiar with Milton?" he asks in that infuriatingly mysterious way. I close my eyes for a second, frowning, as I recall the name from the depths of my memory.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What do you remember most about it?"  
  
"... ' _So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear; farewell remorse, all good to me is lost..._ '"  
  
He smiles but shakes his head. "Ah, impressive. That wasn't quite my intention, but it was close. Was Lucifer alone when he fell?"  
  
I don't know what to say, but he doesn't really give me any time to react as he shifts forward and envelops me in his embrace.  
  
"The rebel angels fell with him, what once was half of Heaven," he whispers in my ear. "not even the Devil faced his fall alone. You are but a mortal man. I have stayed with you tonight and will stay with you until your death - then for the years to come, I will stay and watch over this village and make sure no one desecrates your remains."  
  
"And one day..."  
  
"And one day I will join you in death," he nods, grasping gently at my hand. For such a thin body, he is surprisingly warm and soft. "it is nothing to fear. You are not alone. I won't let you be."  
  
 _I will_ , he said.   
He promised.   
  
"Ashes to ashes," I whisper, closing my eyes, focusing only on the warmth of his rosary beads around my neck. "dust to dust."  
  
He reaches outside the bars, scoops up a handful of dry earth and gently scatters it back down. "Once a fistful of dust was all mankind," he says quietly. "Dietrich, it is simply a new beginning."  
  
Silence falls between us. The breeze tickles my upper body and his; he shivers slightly, and I take that as a cue to move forward and hold him, the last time I will ever hold anyone before sunrise. His eyes widen and he mouths my name, but he doesn't resist, soon relaxing against my body. "You said I must fall," I whisper.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then..." I press my lips to his forehead. "then... _catch me._ "  
  
He accepts my kiss without protest.  
  
"I won't leave you," he whispers.   
And that's all I need.  
  
The early rooster crows. But it is not yet light. Eyes shut, I let myself inhale Christian's scent - soft, warm and male and completely devoid of roses, just the way I want it. His hair is long and loose, fluttering lightly in the breeze, and I run my hands through it. Thinner than Roza's hair, but infinitely more fulfilling. His slow heat entering my body, warming me. Slack on my neck, his rosary - his rope - his blessing.  
  
Perhaps there is salvation for me after all.   
Perhaps he was the sign from God from my plea, hours ago.  
  
 _Just think, Dietrich,_ I tell myself. _Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. By the time the sun rises, you'll be dead._  
  
My grip on Christian tightens, and I run my hands over his back - scarred like mine from the countless flagellations - and smile as he gasps against my body.  
  
I think he will miss me.  
  
And, by God, I think _he_ will love me in the morning.  
  
\-----  
  
 _Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna in die illa tremenda._

**Author's Note:**

> Rosenrot is not my favourite video because I really don't like the jailbait, I mean, girl in the video. But it has my favourite Making Of. That scene where Richard has to be told to let other people have a go at beating up Till cracked me up immensely. XD Also Richard's outfit is the most badass thing ever seen in a Rammstein MV. You are a holy man, wandering the earth and preaching to the masses, Richard, and YOU STILL WEAR THE MOST DIVA-ISH THING IN THE ENTIRE VIDEO. XDDDDDDDD I love that outfit so much, and I am totally going to use it for something else one day. Just the outfit. With him in it. You can tell that Priest!Richard is my favourite character in Rosenrot. Just had to get that out of the way.
> 
> I've wanted to write a Till/Flake for a while. I wondered about writing something for them as far back as December, but given the fact that this is a very popular pairing as it is... well. I didn't think I could do anything with the pairing that hadn't already been done, to put it simply. Flake is my second/third favourite (Olli was promoted big time when I had a staring contest with him in the Newcastle concert) and Till's my first so it would have made sense to do something for them back then, but I couldn't think of a good plot. I try not to half-ass anything. If the story doesn't come to me, I won't force myself to write it to please anyone, not even myself. That's why I tend to be bad with just requests, I guess, because if the plotbunny refuses to be born, I can't write any of it. And even if I get a plotbunny, I always have to push myself to the extremes. x_x I didn't think something like 'Silence' would work with Till and Flake, and I also didn't think I ever would write anything for Rosenrot. Somehow the two factors merged together and this story was finally born. Flake in my head is a pretty well-adjusted man, reasonable and very level-headed. He's also quite mysterious in his own right, you'd think he was really kind of very conservative from the way he acts, but the list of things that don't at all offend him are pretty surprising. I also like his forwardness, coming right out and telling the band that if it ever got uninteresting, he would leave. A highly intriguing character. This is also Till's first-person POV which is about as deep into his head as it gets, but seeing as it's within a clearly more storylike setting than Ohne Dich (for example), I feel slightly less nervous about it. But quality wise? Not the bestest work. I will improve on it further.
> 
> The title of this story is a reference to 'The Name of the Rose' by Umberto Eco which is a beautifully written historical murder mystery. The various scatters of Latin come from various pieces of Catholic liturgy and the text of the Requiem Mass; the ones I listened to were Lloyd-Webber's and Mozart's unfinished Requiem for inspiration. I don't think I listened to any Rammstein songs while writing this which is, well, kinda odd. 'Paradise Lost' I would also recommend because it is genuinely very, very beautifully written. One of the works that got me into epic poetry when I was sixteen.
> 
> In conclusion, extremely interesting experiment with pairings, Flake is a cool guy who talks down murderer!Till and doesn't afraid of anything, I got to show off my meagre knowledge of Requiem Masses and if there's a Hell I'm probably going there many times over


End file.
